


Attracts Me Like No Other

by imaginary_iby



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen knew that marrying into royalty meant great change, but even as Queen she was determined not to lose herself.  </p><p>A little ficlet in which Gwen makes a habit of helping out in the kitchens, and Arthur has a few secret skills up his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attracts Me Like No Other

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in... gosh, 2009, over on eljay. I've dusted off the cob-webs of youth and polished it up a little. You will find a lot of love for Gwen within, I make no apologies!

“Guinevere?” Arthur asked curiously, watching as his wife leaned over their bed and gathered up one of the quilts into her arms. “What exactly are you doing?”

A touch embarrassed, Gwen straightened, clutching the material to her chest. "Oh, you know, this and that." She grinned at him, shyly biting her lip. 

It was an expression that Arthur believed only _she_ could pull off so well, if the feeling at the bottom of his stomach was anything to go by. To his great surprise, she suddenly flicked the quilt out in a flurry, sending dust and fluff into the air. He watched as specs flew this way and that, illuminated by the morning sun that was streaming through the windows.

She did this several times until she seemed satisfied that the quilt was sufficiently aired out. She then draped it over the length of their bed and adjusted it expertly, smoothing her hands over the wool until she was happy. With a hum, she fluffed the pillows and placed them at the head of the bed. Satisfied with her work, she turned her gaze to her husband, laughing at his expression. “It's called making the bed, Arthur.”

“I know that,” Arthur protested indignantly – indignation that Gwen knew was utterly fake, given the way he rolled his eyes at her. “The question is, what on earth are you making it for?”

Gwen took in a deep breath to reply, but found that she didn’t quite know what to say. All her life, she had neatened her bed in the morning; and as a handmaiden, she had neatened many others, too. It was just the done thing. But this was her first day as Queen of Camelot. Her first morning waking up next to Arthur.

Her transition into royalty was something that she and Arthur had discussed at length. Obviously, she would have responsibilities surpassing her old position, and whilst those responsibilities made her nervous, she felt that she could rise to the occasion given practice. It was obvious to both of them that she would never bear any resemblance to some of the kings and queens that had visited Camelot over the years. She wasn’t the sort to be demanding, nor arrogant - nor, as Merlin had announced whilst looking at Arthur accusingly, _prattish._ It simply wasn't the sort of person she was, and such traits weren't conducive to keeping work as a handmaiden.

There was also the matter of growing comfortable around luxury. Beautiful dresses, large rooms, ample food always on hand. For years she had been surrounded by such things, but had never really been able to partake of them. In the weeks leading up the wedding, she had been housed in the castle - that time had let her slowly learn to accept what had formerly been extravagances.

What had never really been discussed, however, were the little day to day tasks, the seemingly insignificant bits and pieces of life. In such a new world, they were something that she wanted to keep.

“Well…” Gwen trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip before licking it smooth. “I suppose…there’s no real reason why I can’t, is there?”

\-----

Over the months, Arthur found himself increasingly enchanted by the little things that Gwen did – the small ways in which she remained herself, whilst learning to serve and lead the people with greater ease.

The way she never left clothes on the floor to be picked up by someone else; she always put them away herself, with great care.

The way he sometimes walked in on her, sat in late father's beloved leather chair, determinedly mending the cuff of one of his court shirts. Even though it was no bother for him to simply get a new one, she refused to let perfectly fine linen go to waste.

The way she automatically hunted down a broom, whenever something broke. Not to mention the way she tried to sweep his feet up whenever he teased her.

The way she sometimes snuck back to the great hall after a mighty feast, determined to help the servants clear the dishes. He knew that she had her old apron tucked into one of the drawers.

The way she preferred _him_ to do up the clasps on her dress in the morning, as opposed to her handmaiden. Though he preferred the way she let him _undo_ the clasps at night.

The way he sometimes had to hunt for her all day, only to discover her down in the castle laundry room, happily chattering away to Ellen and the ladies who washed the sheets. 

The way she was to be found every Sunday morning, inspecting the knight's weaponry with a keen eye and performing any necessary repairs in her father's old forge. 

The way she traded such favours for hand-to-hand training, because she wasn't about to let the men have all the mischief. 

\----- 

Both bored and sleepy, Arthur stirred his spoon into the plate of stew that was his dinner. He’d been reading a report on potatoes for longer than he cared to contemplate, and it was beginning to take its toll on his faculties. Flipping ahead, he was dismayed to discover that there were still several pages to go. With a huff, he stood up and pushed the papers to the edge of the desk. 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he grumbled, eyeing off the variety of reports still waiting for approval. He stretched, enjoying the pleasant play of muscles, and absently picked up his plate. Leaving the paperwork behind, he stormed out of the room and made a beeline for the kitchen. 

He was so caught up in his internal tirade about potato reports that he failed to notice the kitchen staff, who had all stopped what they were doing to stare at him in surprise. Nor did he notice the silence that descended when he emptied his leftover stew into the bin for the pigs, dunking the plate into a bucket of water to scrub it clean. 

It wasn’t until he began drying the plate off with a kitchen rag that he noticed that something was amiss – he was being watched. Turning slowly, he faced a sea of amused and surprised faces, the most amused and surprised of all belonging to his wife. 

"What have we here?” she asked, barely concealing a smirk. A little girl, whom Arthur had seen scurrying around the castle and was presumably the daughter of one of the staff, was hugging Gwen’s leg tightly. For a moment, Arthur focused on the child, lost in the future, before realizing that he had been asked a question. By the time he'd glanced up again, Gwen had moved closer to him. She impishly offered him a goblet to dry. 

Exasperated, Arthur took it from her and began to dry the stem. “I am the King of Camelot,” he protested, to both his wife and the room at large. “I do have _some_ skills that don't involve poking large venomous creatures with a sword.” 

Gwen merely laughed delightedly, and to Arthur’s surprise, the kitchen staff began to laugh with her. He glared in their general direction, but it was obvious to even the little girl that he wasn’t really cross. 

Gwen’s warm hands found their way to his shoulders, and before he knew what was happening, she was turning him around to face the bucket. “Here,” she took the rag off him and handed him a dirty bowl. “You wash, I’ll dry.” 


End file.
